Prophecy and Miracles
by crystalswolf
Summary: Reposting. Thanks to a newly found prophecy, the Prophets have more than Bajorans as followers. The fractured warring sects threaten to tear a space station apart. Surprises from the past shape the future of the Alpha Quadrant and beyond.
1. Dream

Title: Prophecy and Miracles

Series: The Next Generation/Deep Space 9

Rating: T (any M-rated chapters will be listed separately)

Summary: Thanks to a newly found prophecy, the Prophets have more than Bajorans as followers. The fractured warring sects threaten to tear a space station apart. Surprises from the past shape the future of the Alpha Quadrant and beyond.

Note: I do not have a beta for this story. I will probably not find a beta for this story so read at your own risk. Have been working on this idea for a while. This story is my personal way of giving life to characters that I thought were left lifeless, some more than others. At first I wanted to release all at once but now it's becoming clear that I never will that way. I'm constantly revising, second guessing. Have not read any DS9 books and one non-canon TNG book. This occurs some time after Nemesis but nothing from Countdown.

Disclaimer: Of course, Star Trek original characters do not belong to me. The characters created by me are only for enhancing their stories.

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**Chapter 1: Dream**

A man and child locked in telekinetic combat. Their eyes are filled with the blue of massive energy flowing through them. _Rebirth_

Lights flash wildly as one woman shields another. _Panic_

A man's face is poised to give a passionate kiss. _Love_

In a marketplace, a group of people scream at a woman walking through. One stands in her way and she feels the spray of spit on her face and shoulder. _Sorrow_

A woman on a bed in a medical facility does not move. Her skin dissolves, liquefying as she struggles to breathe. _Peace_

Round with the child inside her, a woman holds the hand of two girls in each. _Destiny_

People with wrinkled noses argue violently with those of smooth noses. There are beings of assorted shades, shapes and sizes involved. Gleaming jewelry dangle from their ears, they sway with the angry shaking of heads. _Prophesy_

One image melts into another until all give way to a clear image of a strange man, in strange surrounds, turning resolutely to a strange light. His eyes are focused on the task that will no doubt save several lives and there is no question the sacrifice is worth it. The light, so overwhelming, stretches outward into the darkness of space like a sun. It then retreats into itself until nothing is left, void. _The beginning_

Several solar systems away, two little girls wail in pain. They cry for something to comfort them as their mother rushes into the room and directly to their bed. "It was only a dream," she coos, but the words do not comfort them as it should have.

The woman's arms, weathered with advanced age, reached to hold two girls. Their cheeks slick from countless tears as one tries to form words through sniffles. She begins, "Our father..."

"... is dead," the other finishes.


	2. Intruder

The docking clamps jarred the ship, rattling the already frayed nerves of the passengers waiting to enter the well known space station. Over one hundred people of various species spanning the galaxies only wanted to hear one thing, the sound of someone telling them they could exit the ship and board the station.

Pilgrims of the Prophets, a new sect of the Bajoran religion gaining ground among non-Bajorans made up most of the passengers on the shuttle. They were mostly humans but also some Trill, Orions, and surprisingly a Romulan, all dressed in a style of robes similar to that of Bajoran religious leaders.

The result of what had become known as the Molan Prophesy. A prophesy recently uncovered and translated from ancient Bajoran spoke of a man who'd lived tens of thousands of years before. His prediction, as vague as all other prophecies, was "the miracle of Bajor makes three, culminating in the return of the Emissary, ushering in a Golden Age of Bajor and not of Bajor".

The hissing sound from the other side of the exit was enough to let them know it wouldn't be much longer. Still, there was an air of excitement and annoyance that made for a volatile combination.

Sliding open, the exit doors revealed a tiny room, the airlock, used to acclimatize passengers from the ship to the station's atmosphere much like the slow process of moving a fish from one aquarium to another.

On the opposite side of the room was a round, cog-shaped door leading to one central passageway that branched into several more throughout the space station. It rolled to the side revealing several people, including Federation uniformed station security.

Some from the ship were returning family members eager to embrace loved ones. But most, however, were new to the station. They were pilgrims set to live as close to the prophets as possible. Not a very uncommon thing nowadays, because of the explosion of religion in the Alpha Quadrant centered around the Bajorans' wormhole aliens.

Word was spreading that the Bajoran Prophets were beings of incredible abilities and many saw them as worthy of worship. Or at the very least, people hoped to find answers to universal questions from these seemingly omniscient beings.

The result was an almost unmanageable population varying wildly in species and interpretation of religion. Splintered far beyond the differences within Bajoran communities, the last station census counted as many as over a hundred sects that were increasingly at odds with each other. And, of course, all of this brewed constantly on the relatively tiny space station Deep Space Station Nine.

Station security lined everyone from the ship into one long row of jittery, fidgeting people and checked each for identification. Security at the front, center, and end of the line watched for any sign of violence. The temperament of the station balanced on the precipice of a full blown station war and had everyone on edge, including station security.

Toward the end of the line, a cloaked figure pulled close to the wall of the corridor and tried to slip by a security officer but stopped short when the officer's eyes returned to sweep over the rear of the line.

A Bajoran man, closer to the front, accused a green, barrel-chested Orion man of offensive and vulgar comments made about his Bajoran religious beliefs. The large green man expressed his disinterest in the accusation with a wave of his hand and an indignant sniff.

Other Bajorans rushed to the side of the Bajoran man and an Orion woman, along with a couple of humans, joined the side of the Orion. Sneers, angry shouting, and even a fist waved in the face of a human eventually brought everyone standing in line into the fray.

Almost everyone.

Security officers rushed to quell the escalating hostility as the hooded figure seized the opportunity to slip away unnoticed.

Using an extensive knowledge of the station, the hooded figure confidently made their way around each turn, each corridor. Even after a year, and armed with perhaps the most intimate understanding of its inner workings of the station, the route to the target location was planned and almost effortlessly executed.

At the end of the line was a door like any other in the station. What made it unique was the person sleeping behind it this early morning. The figure stood at the door contemplated how this moment would change everything.

A finger pushed the button and after a long silence there was rustling from within. Moments later, the door slid open revealing a very groggy Bajoran woman in her sleepwear.

She stood startled, looking at the hooded figure covered in shadows.

"Security has become laughable since I left," the hooded figured chuckled and in that instant the hood, the robe, and even skin melted into a silvery liquid substance reshaping itself into an all-too-familiar figure.

Her lungs contracted involuntarily and the Bajoran woman struggled to whisper a name, "Odo?"

His hand caressed the woman's face and she covered it with her own hand to press it tightly to her. "Nerys," Odo whispered her name as the corners of his lipless mouth tipped slightly upward.

Even though he'd learned to master shifting his shape more convincingly to humanoid forms, he chose not to take any other form than what his love would recognized. He drew her body close to his and reminded himself of his purpose on the station as he continued, "we need to talk."

XX

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_I had to edit 2 years to 1 because I misread my timeline. This chapter is suppose to occur approx 1 year after the events in the last episode of DS9. I also rewrote a few sections for clarity and continuity. _


	3. Memory

"Sir, we've reached Ligon II." The helmsman turned to his captain awaiting his next command. A strange wave of excitement emanated from the man that Commander Deanna Riker's empathic abilities effortlessly sensed.

Although their full mission was only known to the captain of the ship and those directly involved, there was a definite buzz among the crew that there was something so secretive, it had to be exciting.

"Where's Lt. Watts?" her husband growled, not bothering to hide his foul mood. It was bad enough that the secrecy of the mission gnawed at her husband, but having unfamiliar Bridge crew during this mission was unacceptable.

"He's ill, Sir," the unfamiliar man answered quickly, "he went to sickbay."

Captain William T. Riker sat in his captain's chair eyeing the viewscreen on the forward facing wall of his ship's Bridge. Sitting next to him as his ship's senior counselor, Deanna's Betazoid black eyes studied him carefully while he rubbed his newly re-grown beard. "Establish an orbit around the planet."

His attention shifted to his wife's face and his brows furrowed with the same thought he he'd voiced several times since this mission began. "I don't like it, Deanna," he complained, his voice rumbling as he stared at the brown and blue planet on the screen.

The situation was peculiar, she had to admit. Some time after refusing the Federation's last invitation for membership, Ligon II seemed to close itself off from communication with most outside planets. Now, after several years of silence, they made contact with Starfleet and requested a visit from a list of specifically named Starfleet officers.

Ligonians excelled in their use of their natural resources to provide potent cures for several diseases. When they chose isolation, those skills were sorely missed.

Deanna's husband told her of how eager the Federation politicians and Starfleet brass were to reestablish trade with these people. They deemed the mission to escort the requested officers to Ligon II of highest priority.

"It'll be fine," Deanna assured him softly, her voice barely more than a whisper so that no one else could hear them. There was no time for him to respond when the turbo-lift doors slid open, revealing a very irritable admiral and his fiancée.

Admiral Jean-Luc Picard disliked being in the dark even more than Will did. Even though Jean-Luc was quite skilled at hiding irritation from everyone else, Deanna knew better. Her empathic ability, thanks to her Betazoid half, allowed her an intimate sense of the Admiral's present emotional state.

For Deanna, emotional patterns were like fingerprints, unique to every individual. Once familiar with someone, she could recognize the "feel" of that person whenever they were nearby.

As for the Admiral, years of working with him allowed her to know his inner workings probably as well as he knew them, if not better. This was obviously a thought she would never share with the man, as he did not relish the idea of someone knowing more about him that he did.

The Admiral and her husband's eyes met for an instant and both pairs targeted the viewscreen. Their thoughts were so in sync, Deanna was sure their thoughts at the moment were identical. If not for the uncomfortable circumstances, Deanna would've found it amusing and reminiscent of their time on Enterprise.

"Orbit achieved, Sir," the helmsman called out, this time not turning from the panel at his station.

Deanna focused on the Admiral's fiancée and the erratic emotions swirling wildly inside the woman. Doctor Beverly Crusher was once her best friend on the Enterprise but they'd been so preoccupied with their new lives that their friendship, unfortunately, had become little more than the occasional correspondence.

With the news of Beverly and Jean-Luc's wedding, Deanna had hoped that would change. Unfortunately, their nuptials were postponed until their current mission had been completed but it did bring them together nonetheless.

Having taken her friend's hand in hers, Deanna tightened her grip hoping to give strength to her disappointed friend. The red-haired woman's faced turned quickly to her, eyes wide and startled at first, then relaxed in with a warm smile. "Deanna, it's good to see you!"

Deanna stood. The time that had separated them seemed to melt away as they drew in for a hug. It was like meeting with a beloved family member after only a short vacation away. Their friendship had lost nothing. It hadn't become the strange awkwardness that Deanna feared it would be but instead she had her friend, more like a sister, back in her life.

In her joy, Deanna wondered even more why the Ligonians made such a request. Why did they specifically request "_Captain _Picard, Doctor Crusher, and Counselor Troi? What changed their minds from being isolationists to contacting Starfleet with the promise of rekindling trade?

Deanna researched the planet and was reminded of a mission that had once brought them here. Their assignment on the Enterprise was sixteen Earth years ago.

For a Ligonian, that was roughly half a lifetime. On average, they only lived up to thirty to forty Earth years. This meant all those they'd met during that mission would probably be elderly if they had not already perished from natural causes. The people Deanna remembered meeting were all of an age equivalent to their twenties if human.

"They're hailing us, Sir," the chief of security called out to Will, who was entrenched in his own conversation with the Admiral. Not even a year at her post and Will no longer needed to give orders to Lt. Commander Logan,. As though sensing her Captain's wishes, the woman seemed as empathic as Deanna.

Deanna was sure it was an overwhelming sense of pride for the woman to anticipate her captain's needs. All Will had to do was turn his attention to the woman and nod, and an image materialized on the viewscreen immediately.

The young face on the screen wasn't familiar with the video technology used, his head moved in all directions trying to find the center of the image. "Are the three individuals present?" he asked when he seemed to finally find a suitable spot on-screen.

Will stood up and righted himself, "Yes, they are here on the Bridge. Are you the current Ligonian leader?"

The young man's face left the center of the image after mumbling a curt, "Please stand by." Deanna felt that the man's abrupt response didn't settle Will or Jean-Luc's irritation.

Slowly another face entered the image, a much older face with gravity worn skin. The warmth of his smile, however, spread across his face, stretching his sagging cheeks and creasing his already heavily lined eye edges. Deanna recognized the face, or at least half remembered a younger version but couldn't quite match a name or full memory to it.

"Hello, Captain Picard. The Doctor and Counselor are with you?" The rich voice gave no hint of malice, nor did Deanna sense any.

The Admiral looked to his side as though to reassure himself that the two were still there. "Yes," he answered but then quickly added, "and it's _Admiral _Picard now."

"Khah mesh!" the man exclaimed then studied something just beyond view. For some reason the universal translator delayed translating the words for a second or two. Deanna realized what was happening. The man was speaking the lingua franca of the Federation and suddenly shifted to his native Ligonian language. The translator required seconds to process the shift.

The words congratulated the Admiral for a promotion in rank but Deanna could tell her husband was poised to ask the man about his fluency in the Federation language after years of isolation when the man on the screen once again switched back to it.

"I am sending coordinates for your..." he hesitated as though he were searching for the word. "Ah, yes. Transporter." The man nodded to something beyond view and the image of his smiling face faded quickly before Will could say a word.

XXX

"I should go with you," Will suggested to the three officers ready to beam down to the unknown but Deanna had no doubt she was the focus of his anxiety.

Deanna brushed the back of her hand against her husband's increasingly hairy cheek. She could learn to appreciate the scraggly thing, one day.

"It'll be fine," she said to him aloud but telepathically she assured him, "I'll be fine, Imzadi." She could feel his jaw relax and took that as her opportunity to leave.

"Don't worry, Sir," the chief security officer called out formally with a firm voice. "They will be returned to you unharmed." the Chief of Security, took her job very seriously and Deanna noticed that Will thought so as well. His muscles noticeably relaxed more, although not fully, as the three requested Starfleet officers and five security officers stepped onto the transporter pad.

Watching the pad beneath her feet glow, Deanna saw the transporter tech's hand slide slowly over his console causing her view to fragment. The last clear thing she could see was the worried look on her husband's face quickly replaced by blocky, hard to make out shapes that rendered into a full view in seconds.

Materializing inside a structure of marble-like walls, the landing party found themselves in a room that was decorated with silken fabrics of all colors draped along alabaster columns. Hard not to be impressed, Deanna tried to recover from the disorientation of the transporter while admiring the craftsmanship of decoration and form.

It wasn't easy to see one view one minute and in the next see something completely different. But with years of practice using the transporter, adjusting to it had become second nature.

While the others in the landing party oriented themselves with their new environment, she examined the decorative paintings on the walls and columns. Many were stretched cloth or leather, molded to the curvature of the wall on which it was mounted.

Not that the walls needed decorating. They were carved with intricate designs of native Ligonian flowers and other foliage. Even the way the halls, with their open ceilings, framed the magenta sky and allowed breezes to blow the fabrics like tousled ribbons. It all seemed like art in motion.

The floors were black and marble-like, veined with lightening streaks of ivory and Deanna loved the sound their Starfleet issued footwear made against the floor, a musical clicking sound. It could only have been no more than two seconds after they'd materialized when Logan led the other security officers into a casual defensive pattern around their charges, the Admiral, the Doctor, and the Counselor.

Muscles visibly tensed when the slapping sounds of bare feet or sandals on the hard floor approached. The elder man they'd seen early on Enterprise's screen, wearing a very bright white robe that contrasted his rich, dark skin supported himself with a gnarled wooden cane of deep cherry colored wood. Flanked by two men with spears, Deanna wondered why, for such a technologically advanced people, they held such primitive weaponry.

Why were they holding weapons at all for that matter? It seemed her security detail felt the same way as hands made their way to phasers hanging on Starfleet uniformed hips.

The man raised his hands up in a sign of good-will, "These are my personal security guards. Their orders are defensive only and they will not harm anyone with no intention to harm me." Deanna sensed the truth in his words but also the unease of his security guards with weapons now pointed towards them.

With one very gentle motion of his hand, Admiral Picard told Logan to stand down and, more importantly, calm down. She obeyed, but her jaw tightened and eyes fixed on the spearmen.

The man's familiar face, now weathered by time, cracked a warm and inviting smile as his arms opened wide to embrace the Admiral. If not for the situation, Deanna knew both she and Beverly would have laughed just from the sight of that. The Admiral was very protective of his personal space. Perhaps the man noticed Admiral Picard's aversion and pulled away, only slightly. "We have met before. Do you not remember me?"

As though a full body appraisal would jar his visitors' memories, the man stood back. Ligonians naturally had almost perfect memory and perhaps did not understand it was not a trait shared by other species. Deanna could not remember him and when the Admiral eyed him skeptically, she knew he didn't either. Beverly lowered her eyes in concentration and Deanna guessed she was trying to remember as well. The Admiral shook his head and apologized to their host.

For only a moment, the man seemed disappointed, perhaps feeling slighted by Ligonian standards, but then Deanna sensed that there was something more pressing, more time sensitive that he could not waste with such petty feelings. "My name is Hagon."

The name sparked an old, long forgotten memory as though desperate to claw itself to the forefront in Deanna's mind. "My wife Yareena and your officer," he paused for a moment as though he were trying to find the right words, "bahnet-ka." Again, the universal translators took a second to adjust to the change in language, "fight to the death."

The memory flooded back as though it was only yesterday and she wasn't alone. The Admiral's reserved expression softened and Beverly's lips curled into a warm smile.

Now they remembered.

Sixteen years ago Lutan, the leader of the Ligonians at the time, conspired to pit Enterprise's chief of security against his wife, Yareena. That chief of security was once Deanna's best friend and she winced at the memory of how long it had been since she'd thought of the woman, Natasha Yar.

Lutan's effort was in the name of honor but was nothing more than a grab for power and in his eyes, his plan was flawless. If his wife died, he would inherit complete control over her assets and if she lived, he would retain his honor. What he didn't count on was Beverly Crusher's medical expertise reviving his fatally wounded wife.

Rightly so, Yareena was furious with her husband. Deemed "First One", a title that gave him very high status and permission to control her assets under her careful supervision, she quickly demoted him to second, while her previous second husband gained "First One" status.

The man before them was Hagon the lower ranking husband that gained the honored "First One" title. But the man that stood there now was quite old and looked nothing like the young male that unfailingly stood by his wife's side.

"Come," he urged them down one of the corridors. The sandaled feet of Hagon and his body guards made a soft slapping noise against the stone floor that seemed to naturally blend into the elegant design of the building, unlike the hard clicks from the landing party's footwear, no matter how pleasant the sound.

As they walked swiftly, Deanna couldn't help but marvel at the soft yellow-colored columns that almost seemed translucent and delicate holding up a lip of a covering above. The fabrics rolled with slight breezes that rushed through the halls from the open entrances.

Hagon stopped when they'd reached deep mahogany-colored double doors made of perhaps a native wood and was protected by four more spearmen. Gently, he pushed one tall door open and peeked inside of the dark room for a long moment. He then finally glanced at the guests behind him, "It is time to enter."

Deanna prepared herself for the dimly lit room as Hagon opened the door wider and stepped through first. Because he'd given his bodyguards a signal to stay behind, the Admiral did so for their security detail as well, and Deanna almost felt sorry for Logan.

She almost hyperventilated with worry as she could do nothing but watch her three charges make their way inside a dark room, unchecked without her.

Deanna could hear the doors slowly close behind them but her mind focused on something else. Even though she could barely make out the shapes in the low light of a few oil lamps hung from linked chains, there were emotions that overwhelmed her. They seemed familiar, like a long forgotten name or face but instead it was a long forgotten pattern of emotions.

Their eyes were starting to adjust and before she could make out a shape lying on the only bed in the room, Deanna tried desperately to separate the emotions in the room, focusing on the one strange pattern, but there were so many at once. It was line trying to hear one voice inarorm full of excited, chattering people.

Shock, disbelief, unbridled joy, regret. There were so many emotions, it piqued her curiosity to see what her companions' eyes had already adjusted to see.

Objects in the room came into focus and she could first make out the form of a large bed most likely made from the same wood as the double doors. Its ornate decorations were carved into its foundation and boards. The same silken fabrics that decorated the halls decorated the bed to form the flowing, conical canopy reaching all the way to the vaulted ceiling.

What grabbed their interest, however, was the woman in the bed. Her silvery hair and pale, although ashen, skin proved her other-worldliness, obviously not a common Ligonian. The woman's eyes fluttered open and her light eyes shifted from one face to another.

Ligonians were known for their dark, exotic features and this woman had none of them. Her light colored hair spilled over her shoulders and down her chest, pooling on the blankets at her waist. Her pale skin, dull with advanced age, reflected the light in the room and her eyes took on a lighter hue against the light of the lamps than those with darker eye colors would.

Deanna could not make out the specific colors but as she studied the face of the woman, she didn't have to. She knew those features anywhere and the realization of the person in the bed hit her as the emotional patterns had earlier. Beverly Crusher's voice, a barely audible whisper, "How?"

"Tasha?" Deanna spoke her name and it seemed to hold in the air for an eternity of seconds.

A weak voice from the bed broke the silence, weak but joyous nonetheless, "Yes, Deanna, it's me."

"That's impossible!" Admiral Picard protested, voicing absolute disbelief. "Tasha Yar died sixteen years ago!"

It was unsaid how much older this woman was compared to the age Tasha would've been. There were so many questions but from what Deanna could tell in the dim light, the woman smiled at the statement calmly and answered with what sounded like a gritty rasp," Yes, sir. I died."

Deanna felt nothing hidden, only truth. The woman in the bed, at least as far as Deanna could sense, believed she was Deanna's deceased friend, Lt. Commander Natasha Yar.

"How can this be?" the Admiral's frustration continued. Deanna knew he disliked practical jokes and increasingly felt as though he were now dropped in the middle of one. Deanna knew proof, explanations, or both were needed immediately before he called for the security detail and their immediate return to the ship.

"Sir, that's why I asked Hagon to request Doctor Crusher and Deanna... Counselor Troi as well," she quickly corrected herself. "They can prove to you who I am and then I can explain everything."

That was a statement Deanna filed on the side that this was indeed her friend. Obviously, this woman knew the extent of the Admiral's patience.

Without a word, Beverly reached for a sample tube and her medical tricorder she always carried on missions, even now as head of Starfleet Medical.

She took a sample of the woman's blood in the tube and attached it to the tricorder. It would upload the information of the blood to the ship in orbit and search for identification.

Everyone waited silently and seemed to hold their breaths while the device processed the DNA profile returned from the database on the ship.

Beverly looked up in disbelief but her nod was all the Admiral needed. He quickly shifted his attention to Deanna, "What do you feel?"

Deanna tried to form the words to explain the intricacies of empathic sensory, the fingerprint-like patterns were reliable but only to a degree. There was no concrete, scientific method to absolutely be sure but she gave the only answer she could, "I think this is Tasha."

Deanna felt a flood of emotions when she finally said the words. Perhaps she couldn't bring herself to believe it until the thought was out there. Perhaps she felt the emotional rush from her two companions as well as from Hagon and Tasha. Either way, there were too many emotions to process and they were too overwhelming: acceptance, confusion, satisfaction, worry, more confusion, elation, and something she did not expect at a time like this... sorrow. Deanna fell into a nearby chair.

"Tasha, how are you here?" Beverly seemed ready to ask move but perhaps there were so many that she could barely form just the one.

The elderly woman in the bed motioned toward the two chairs next to where Deanna sat recovering from the flood of emotions.

When Jean-Luc and Beverly sat, Hagon seated himself in a chair on the other side of the bed closest to Tasha.

"I'm dying," Tasha began. "I don't have much time so I'll tell you my strange little story the best and quickest way I can."


	4. Resurrection

**Chapter Note:** The new section is a somewhat mature theme but because it's not violent or sexual, I figured it can keep its "T" rating for now. I hope that's a wise choice.  
-

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Tasha floated in time and space. No different than being suspended in calm water in darkness, it was as though everything passed through her, around her, and was a part of her, all at once.

A flash of white hot light blinded her...eyes? Did she have eyes? Where there was nothing, now there was pain of… nerve cells firing? Did she even have a body anymore?

Yes, that's what they were. It had been so long since she'd felt anything and now electricity crackled and fired nerves from her consciousness outward. Along the way, her body drew in a labored breath that reminded her of when she'd once inhaled too much grit during a sandstorm.

From that breath, a thumping began. Steadily, evenly, it shattered the peaceful silence of her gentle, dark universe and electricity raced throughout the rest of her body. Her heart was beating. How long had it been since she'd heard that sound?

The void was replaced by heated sand against her back. She tried to move but couldn't will her muscles to obey.

She was no longer a part of eternity but now felt the limits of her body. "I'm tired," she thought to herself in wonder. "I haven't been tired in so long."

There was one thing she could control, through. Her eyelids, with some effort, opened slowly. Above her, what should have been softly twinkling lights against the inky sky were like billions of flashlights shining in her face at once. Unable to take the bright lights, she shut her eyes tightly.

It was nighttime somewhere, wherever she was. But the most important thing to her was that she was somewhere.

Where was she? Who was she? Her memories were disjointed patches of imagery that she couldn't make any sense of enough to remember who she was or where she was. She half-remembered standing in a desert among familiar faces and arguing with a strange creature called... Armus.

Her nose wrinkled at the thought of the creature. She didn't have to remember him fully to know he was a hostile being.

Tired, she felt her muscles for the first time in who knows how long, sore and aching from lack of use, until her weary mind pulled her into a deep sleep.

Tasha's eyes fluttered open when the sun rose over a vast desert. The extremely bright light of day hurt her eyes even through her closed eyelids. But she could see, and this time she could move.

Her eyes squinted and watered with the burn of light far too bright for her eyes to handle. In her abdomen, she felt the muscles tense as she pulled herself upright.

There was nothing but sand and wasteland around her except for a wreckage of a shuttle nearby. A flash of an image came to her mind of a dark haired woman smiling and Tasha knew this was a friend but couldn't remember a name or anything else about her.

"You are fully conscious," a voice spoke from behind her and she turned to see the tar-like creature that she'd half remembered.

Seeing the mass with her eyes jarred more from her memory. Her death. Blasted by the creature for his amusement, Tasha remembered the momentary pain and then nothing.

"You... killed me!" she pushed her body away from him in a crouch and muscle memory urged her hand to her hip that felt nothing but skin. In fact, she was completely nude, exposed to the harsh elements of this world.

"Why am I naked?" she rose to her feet, but balance was something that took more effort than she remembered. How, at that moment, she envied toddlers as she dropped back to the ground.

In frustration, Tasha's hands clawed at the sand around her. "What am I doing here… and with you?"

"You… Killed… ME!" she shouted, but her voice seemed so small in the vast desert.

The creature sat in front of her motionless and Tasha wondered for a moment if her returning memories were not so reliable. Was the pile of goo an actual living creature?

"Yes," he finally responded and almost caused Tasha to jump. "I killed you."

Armus spoke with his heavy breaths and spread himself closer to her, his thick substance inching toward her fingertips on the sand.

"And now I have brought your back to life," he continued.

-x-

Armus could manipulate matter. Even the sand around them he could transform into whatever it was Tasha required.

In a night, he created an oasis for her survival, complete with fully ripened fruit trees and a pool of pristine, drinkable water. It had been two and a half days before the needs of Tasha's body overrode her wish to die again and she found herself slumped at the water's edge.

He laughed at her that night and taunted her with a promise that he would only resurrect her again and again if she died.

The next morning, Tasha worked on the communications systems within the wreckage of a shuttle pod and again, he laughed.

"Your people have established a beacon in orbit. It hampers any signal from the planet while sending out a warning for anyone just outside of the solar system of danger… me."

At the same time the creature's voice sounded amused and bitter while he laughed as Tasha continued to work with panels and the wires hiding behind them. She knew it was useless to continue. In her heart she knew he was telling the truth. What little she could remember of her life before waking up on the barren planet confirmed everything he said.

Her ship's captain would definitely do such a thing but where did that leave her? On a desert planet with her murderer and forced to depend on him for her very survival.

Tasha threw the calibration tool back into the shuttle's toolbox and uttered a choice Klingon word she'd picked up from Lt. Worf. Nothing changed in her life since her childhood. Her happy life aboard the Enterprise was a brief dream in between two hellish nightmares.

Always dependent on ghoulish creatures for her survival was her lot in life and Tasha felt that sinking feeling of resignation settle in again.

Unfortunately, as she regained her memories of her life, her childhood on Turkana IV was one of the first full memories to resurface and she wished she could've remained blissfully ignorant of her past.

Scrounging on the dregs of a war-torn civilization, avoiding the marauding gangs of rapists and pillagers only to eventually join their ranks in order to keep her and her sister alive was what she thought was her lowest point in life.

Seems she was wrong. It had gotten lower. Much lower.

Armus reveled in taunting her. The height of his amusement came when she couldn't take anymore of her predicament, curled up in the corner of the shuttle, and cried herself to sleep.

After that, Tasha lost all hope. For nights at a time she sat in the sand and stared at the sky, wondering where her ship and shipmates were. During the day she would literally fall asleep onto the sandy ground only to start her nights the same way.

Quietly, in her mind she would imagine the lives of her friends exploring and living as she no longer could. Armus was no longer entertained.

"Aren't you going to cry again? Your shipmates will never come for you."

Tasha ignored him and continued to dream. Lives among the stars she studied were filled with adventure and love and all of the things she would never experience again. But her life on Turkana IV prepared her for this disappointment.

Even while serving on the starship she knew her good life as a Federation officer couldn't last.

The days passed by in sleep and her nights were spent sitting in the middle of her oasis, watching the stars and dreaming. The only time she moved from her spot was to drink water or relieve herself.

It had been days since Armus taunted her. In fact, he no longer spoke to her which was a blessing as there were no more distractions from what had become visions.

More days passed and Tasha grew weaker. When she woke, she no longer sat up at night to watch the stars but watched them in the position where she'd awakened.

"It is foolish to starve yourself," Armus finally said to her after days she'd lost count of. She did know it was long passed the time any human would die of dehydration or even starvation but somehow she was alive. Obviously whatever ability allowed him to bring her back to life also allowed him to keep her alive.

It didn't matter. She would spend eternity dreaming of her friends and the life she could only imagine but never fully have. A life beyond the oasis and the desert world shared only with her killer.

He could keep her in the realm of the living or allow her to die, it didn't matter. Tasha had nothing to live for.

Tasha no longer opened her eyes. For what seemed like weeks, Tasha spent her days and nights sleeping, enveloped in strange dreams. They were twisted hybrids of memories and wishes and fears.

There was one where she dreamt of her childhood on Turkana IV but instead of the war-torn civilization, it was peaceful and nurturing complete with her family in tact, a home, and plentiful food.

Another was of her as Chief of Security but she was married aboard Enterprise with children of her own. They lived in one of the spacious family quarters as she'd seen others assigned to and watched her beautiful daughters playing at a small, child-sized table covered with toys and drawing paper.

Her husband was about to enter their quarters, she could sense it, when she heard Armus's voice intrude.

"Wake human," he demanded and no matter how fiercely she clung to the dream, she couldn't hold on to it enough. Her mind slipped back into consciousness and her unwanted reality.

For a long moment she didn't answer the creature, half hoping he would think she still slept and leave her alone.

"I know you are awake, human. I have a surprise for you," his voice rasped and hissed near her and Tasha knew he wouldn't allow her peace to slip into those strange, yet satisfying dreams if she didn't appease him by answering.

"What is it you evil, murdering…" even though she croaked the words in her throat that was sore from lack of use, the insults poured out of her mouth with little effort.

"Is that any way to speak to someone that has given you a gift?" he answered merrily. Tasha's empty stomach tightened. Whatever amused him would not benefit her one bit.

-x-

Her fingers contracted to grab the grass around her as the green carpet of foliage cushioned her knees. This was it. This was the moment she dreaded since the day Armus explained to her what her "gift" was.

She remembered cursing him, demanding that he take it back. And when she realized that he wouldn't, she begged. And not just a simple plea. Natasha Yar did what she'd sworn she would never do again since her childhood and fell to her knees with hands clasped as though for prayer to beg her tormentor to stop what he'd done.

But he wouldn't. In fact, he let it slip that he couldn't for some reason. And so Tasha waited out the days, the weeks, and the months until this very moment.

Tasha felt the contractions like a wave through her center as her muscles pushed and pulled in many directions to bring her baby to this barren world. For support, she held a nearby tree upright on her knees and struggled through the pain, trying desperately to work with her body instead of against it.

As she felt the searing pain of what must have been the head of her infant, the images of long forgotten dreams of a family aboard the Enterprise mocked her. This was nothing close to anything she'd ever wanted. This was unfair, to her and the baby.

Instinct and nature took over completely as she continued to strain against the work her body demanded of her and finally whooshing release that caused all of her pain to disappear in an instant.

And there, just as the sun barely touched the sandy horizon, her baby had been cushioned by the lushest, softest grass she'd ever seen. Weak and dazed, she held her baby girl in her arms and marveled at the blond hair much like her own. She'd figured her theory that Armus had merely cloned her was correct. But as the seconds passed, she noticed her baby didn't make a sound. She didn't even move.

Also, her coloring was pale and Tasha frantically checked her mouth for any obstruction, but there wasn't any. She rubbed her tiny hands and feet hoping to help with circulation, only partially aware of her own body continuing with it's last chores of the birthing process, but it had no effect.

And just as she gently rested her daughter's body on the grass where she'd been born, Tasha felt contractions again. This time there was no build up, the contractions were quick and furious as they demanded she push.

What more was in store for her?

Holding the same tree and away from her stillborn child, Tasha strained and pushed and worked. Just as the last bit of the sun had set below the horizon and the sky had turned a deep purple, she felt the release of her second baby.

On a very thick patch of grass below her, an area Tasha could have sworn was nothing more than a bare patch of dirt and roots, Tasha examined her second newborn.

This time, her second baby with strange, dark brown tufts of hair, squirmed below her and her strong little lungs powered an ear-drum shattering wail that caused Tasha to smile. But her heart wasn't fully in it, even as she picked up the unhappy newborn and tried to comfort her, she thought of the one that didn't make it.

Her eyes focused on the tiny lifeless body around the tree and noticed a twitch. Not sure of what she actually saw, Tasha moved closer and noticed her first daughter's arm move until finally she began to wail as loudly as her sister.

Tears streamed down Tasha's face, there was just no stopping them. Both were alive and they seemed healthy. Exhausted, Tasha carefully washed herself and the babies in the water she'd collected from the pond and rested them close to one another in the grass. There wasn't anything more she could think of that she had to do before morning, curled her body by their heads and fell asleep.

-x-

It had been several days since she repaired the communications systems of the derelict shuttle. Tasha curled against the withered tree and dug her toes into the dried grass and rocky dirt.

Her daughters curled beside her, only about year old now, and slept as they'd done the last few days of having watched their oasis deteriorate before their eyes… since Armus died.

She remembered the night Armus had come to her and explained her limited options. It shocked her to hear that the creature was dying. Her murderer, her tormentor that she imagined would live forever and surely out-live her, was dying.

But the reason for his demise was more startling. It seemed he'd given her daughters far more of his lifeforce that he'd given her. The cost was limiting his own life and Tasha wondered what was the catch. With Armus, there was always a catch for a seemingly selfless act.

But whatever it was, the secret died with him.

He did make it very clear that she only had about five years of life left without him. That was the Armus she knew and didn't love. But both girls would have long lifespans within the norm of humans and she was grateful for that.

That is, until he reminded her that the oasis would shrivel without him as well. Their source of clean drinking water and food would disappear with him. And it did.

Tasha looked around and saw nothing but the remnants of what was lush and green and abundant for their survival. Their only chance was to repair the communications system of the abandoned shuttle. At least that was her part in the hope for salvation.

For his part, Armus offered what little life left in him to try and disable the warning beacon, but there were no guarantees.

And since that evening Armus died, Tasha felt the clock ticking against their lives as each day passed.

The pond had become nothing more than a mud puddle and perhaps unsafe to drink, and the vegetation withered and dried more every day. Tasha only needed enough to keep her body alive, only enough so that her body could produce milk to keep her daughters alive.

But Tasha wasn't sure how much longer she could continue. Her lips were cracked and blistered and her insides cramped from lack of water. The milk she produced wasn't enough to fill the bellies of both of her girls and for the last few days they cried themselves to sleep, hungry.

She reached her hand into the pond, trying desperately to gather enough water for at least a mouthful, she heard a boom from the sky that dulled into a low whine. Although it was obvious what it was, she'd given up belief that it would come.

But it did. A ship lowered down to the surface and blew dust in all directions. Tasha shielded her daughters from the grit and when the dust settled, she saw men look around, found her and turned away quickly.

She'd forgotten that she was naked; it had been years since she needed any level of modesty.

"Help us," she called to them, too weak to go to them, then noticed a few return to their ship, "please!"

One of the men returned from the inside of the ship with a blanket and approached her. He placed it around her and her daughters and smiled warmly.

A face she'd seen, to her memory only little more than a year ago, she recognized the man immediately, "You're Hagon!"

He nodded and patted his chest gently. "Hagon." He then pointed his hand in her direction and said her name, barely recognizable in his heavily accented voice, "Yar."

The lack of a Universal Translator was inconvenient at the moment, but it didn't seem to matter. The Ligonian seemed to understand she needed his help all the same.

Hagon motioned to an armed man standing by the entrance of their ship and said something in their language. The man returned his weapon to his holster and headed toward them.

His bent arms motioned in the direction of her daughters and Tasha wondered if he were offering to carry them. Since their conception, she'd never had her girls out of her sight and didn't feel comfortable with the idea of it now.

But she remembered Hagon, and she remembered that he was a good man. Finally she willed herself to nod her consent.

As Hagon plucked her daughters from the brown, brittle grass, the other man scooped Tasha with seemingly little effort and both men headed for their ship with those they carried.

It was halfway to the ship when they passed by a circular patch of stone against the sand. Armus. He'd taken her life, but in the end, he'd given her a chance at another one. They were square in her eyes.


	5. Introduction

Deanna tried to reconcile her best friend's death, one she'd sensed and confirmed years ago, with the very much alive, much older than she should have been woman in front of her.

The Admiral's eyes never moved from the form lying in the bed. She was sure he was looking for something to disprove the woman's claim and secretly hoped that he could.

She didn't want to think about the alternative. About the idea that that if this woman's story was true, they left her best friend's on that planet at the mercy of her murderer. And for how many years?

Deanna's eyes filled with tears as she thought of her friend's childhood and to have her life of normalcy ripped from her.

It was hard to regain control of the guilt she felt but Deanna swallowed hard and pulled herself together as the woman in the bed finished resting from the story.

Tasha looked at the man holding her hand and he nodded knowingly. With considerable effort, Hagon stood and left the chamber while Tasha continued her story, "It took time, but as I recovered, I learned a little of their language, at least enough for Hagon to tell me his story."

Beverly's fingers tapped at her medical tricorder furiously as they listened to the rest of Tasha's story.

"Seems Lutan wasn't satisfied with his subordinate position. His mistress convinced him to poison Yareena and killed her. They tried to take her property but Hagon found out what he'd done and had him executed. But because his mistress was an outsider, he refused outside trade with the Ligonian system."

"That explains why trade just sudden stopped with the Ligonian people," the Admiral guessed and Tasha nodded.

"Yes, sir. Hagon was distraught over Yareena's death. She was pregnant with their baby."

Hagon had returned to the room but this time in each hand he held the hand of a small girl. It was disconcerting that she only sensed Hagon's emotional pattern and one other enter the room but saw three individuals.

The girls walked in step, and their subtle movements were so in time that Deanna could have sworn they were a mirror image of each other.

Both climbed the sheets to snuggle in the arms of Tasha, but even then their movements were in-time with one another so much so that one would have believe it to be choreographed.

Deanna felt uneasy as she watched the girls. Both had long, straight hair but one had the light color similar to Tasha's while the other had a very dark color. Their skin was pale, not sickly but different and unusual and under the low lamplight, Deanna could have sworn it shimmered.

The light haired girl's eyes focused on Deanna, Beverly and Jean-Luc while the other child, the dark haired child, hid behind the curtain of her dark hair.

Beverly continued to work the panel of her tricorder as it pointed in the direction of their friend and her daughters.

"Tasha, they're not clones," Beverly interrupted the quiet moment.

The elderly woman in the bed gave a knowing smile and confirmed Beverly's results, "No. Armus told me the night he'd died that he cloned me and manipulated its DNA. Also he kind of let it slip that he didn't know it would split into twins, but here they are. Armus did have a sense of humor, as demented as it was."

"Tasha," Deanna had to ask, "what do you mean?"

"He told me that he didn't want a mere clone for me. 'Where was the fun in that?' he said to me and told me the father he used as the model for his traits during the DNA manipulation process."

"Manipulation of genetic material from nothing? Did he happen to mention to you how he managed this?" Beverly asked, her scientific curiosity piqued.

"The girls are about five years old now, why are you contacting us now?" Deanna asked her and Tasha turned her face away from them.

"It was complicated," she answered.

But the Admiral, as focused as ever, returned to the one question that had been buried underneath the endless questions they had for her.

"Tasha, I would still like to know, who did Armus use as a father to these girls?"

Her eyes returned in their direction and this time focused on the Admiral's as her mouth tightened as though she wanted to say but couldn't bring herself to do it.

-x-

Returned safely to the ship and to a relieved husband, Deanna dropped to her bed, panting to catch her breath. Beside her, her husband's panting steadied to controlled deep breaths as she realized nothing could distract her thoughts from all that had happened on the surface of the planet for long.

It was just like her husband to suggest intimacy to divert her busy mind and overwhelmed emotions. And she had to admit, for a time she thought nothing of what she'd learned on the planet.

There was so much she tried to absorb but couldn't. Not only was her friend, Tasha, alive but she had two daughters that, by all laws of nature, should not have been. But there they were.

Although Hagon adopted them as his heirs and they would someday inherit the wealth of resources as noblewomen of Ligon II, Tasha hoped her old friends would grant the girls' wish to know life among humans. That they could learn about the species of their mother and the origins of their "father."

That concept was the hardest to tackle. As Tasha put it, Armus thought it was an amusing bit of information that she'd had a sexual relationship with the "Tinman," although she wasn't quite sure how he'd found out about that.

Data, a purely mechanical being, couldn't have contributed anything to their DNA, and yet some of their attributes were fashioned from him.

"Wouldn't that make Data their father just as much?" The thought crashed into mind and it took a few seconds to realize it belonged to her husband.

"Sorry, you were thinking a little too loudly," he shared the added thought with his flavor of joviality firmly attached to it. Long ago, their minds synchronized enough to boost her ability for telepathy between them, growing stronger over the years, it continued to unsettle her when he entered her mind without warning.

Because Tasha's room that was kept dimly lit for the sake of Tasha's weakened eyes, Deanna did not have the opportunity to see the girls until they accompanied Hagon outside of the room.

Ekelah's hair was a wheat blond color, much like she remembered Tasha's hair years ago, before it grayed. Her eyes were an intense yellow and definitely fashioned after Data's as well as skin that shimmered as though dowsed with glittering substance. It was very much like Data's bioplast skin.

The culmination of so many pale colors and her intense stare highlighted the fact that she was something unnatural.

In contrast, the other child's dark brown hair framed her clear blue eyes and pale, shimmering skin, making them almost glow. And unlike her sister, Eshe's emotional turmoil riddled her face. She seemed constantly on the verge of crying.

But their faces were identical and closely resembled their mother's face, except a more oval-shape and other minor differences Deanna guessed were taken from Data.

And of all the unbelievable things discovered on the planet, it was Tasha's request that weighed heaviest on Deanna's mind. Tasha had asked her to take the girls, for her and Will to be their guardians.

"I wouldn't mind doing that for Tasha. Not to mention it sounds like those girls will make things interesting around here," Will's thought rang in her mind. Startled, Deanna had almost forgotten that the telepathy between her and her husband was still quite open.

"I don't mind either but what do we know about raising twin girls?" she thought and not quite sure if it was a question for him or herself.

His arm reached over her chest and drew her body closer to him. His body was warm and quite inviting... again. This time he spoke so that his warm breath tickled he ear and his voice rumbled mischievously, "Didn't we agree it was time to try for our own? What do we know about that... except the trying part."

She knew he was right. Children did not come with manuals and why would these two girls be any different? That answered the question, but it was hard to think clearly while her husband kissed her neck down to her collarbone.  
Returned safely to the ship and to a relieved husband, Deanna dropped to her bed, panting to catch her breath. Beside her, her husband's panting steadied to controlled deep breaths as she realized nothing could distract her thoughts from all that had happened on the surface of the planet for long.

It was just like her husband to suggest intimacy to divert her busy mind and overwhelmed emotions. And she had to admit, for a time she thought nothing of what she'd learned on the planet.

There was so much she tried to absorb but couldn't. Not only was her friend, Tasha, alive but she had two daughters that, by all laws of nature, should not have been. But there they were.

Although Hagon adopted them as his heirs and they would someday inherit the wealth of resources as noblewomen of Ligon II, Tasha hoped her old friends would grant the girls' wish to know life among humans. That they could learn about the species of their mother and the origins of their "father."

That concept was the hardest to tackle. As Tasha put it, Armus thought it was an amusing bit of information that she'd had a sexual relationship with the "Tinman," although she wasn't quite sure how he'd found out about that.

Data, a purely mechanical being, couldn't have contributed anything to their DNA, and yet some of their attributes were fashioned from him.

"Wouldn't that make Data their father just as much?" The thought crashed into mind and it took a few seconds to realize it belonged to her husband.

"Sorry, you were thinking a little too loudly," he shared the added thought with his flavor of joviality firmly attached to it. Long ago, their minds synched enough to boost her ability for telepathy, growing stronger over the years, it continued to unsettle her when he entered her mind without warning.

Because Tasha's room that was kept dimly lit for the sake of Tasha's weakened eyes, Deanna did not have the opportunity to see the girls until they accompanied Hagon outside of the room.

Ekelah's hair was a wheat blond color, much like she remembered Tasha's hair years ago, before it grayed. Her eyes were an intense yellow and definitely fashioned after Data's as well as skin that shimmered as though dowsed with glittering substance. It was very much like Data's bioplast skin.

The culmination of so many pale colors and her intense stare highlighted the fact that she was something unnatural.

In contrast, the other child's dark brown hair framed her clear blue eyes and pale, shimmering skin, making them almost glow. And unlike her sister, Eshe's emotional turmoil riddled her face. She seemed constantly on the verge of crying.

But their faces were identical and closely resembled their mother's face, except a more oval-shape and other minor differences Deanna guessed were taken from Data.

And of all the unbelievable things discovered on the planet, it was Tasha's request that weighed heaviest on Deanna's mind. Tasha had asked her to take the girls, for her and Will to be their guardians.

"I wouldn't mind doing that for Tasha. Not to mention it sounds like those girls will make things interesting around here," Will's thought rang in her mind. Startled, Deanna had almost forgotten that the telepathy between her and her husband was still quite open.

"I don't mind either but what do we know about raising twin girls?" she thought and not quite sure if it was a question for him or herself.

His arm reached over her chest and drew her body closer to him. His body was warm and quite inviting... again. This time he spoke so that his warm breath tickled he ear and his voice rumbled mischievously, "Didn't we agree it was time to try for our own? What do we know about that... except the trying part."

She knew he was right. Children did not come with manuals and why would these two girls be any different? That answered the question, but it was hard to think clearly while her husband kissed her neck down to her collarbone.


	6. Purpose

The world would seem barren to someone without the proper knowledge of where to look for life. In fact, this world silently teemed with life... of one species. Kira Ryel wiped her hair from her face for a better look at what seemed like a sea of latinum, but she knew better.

Beautiful with its gentle, calm waves reflecting the orange sun's light, her little fingers tightened around her mother's hand as she watched a peculiarly large wave, more like a lump in the liquid, rise up from the center of the sea and slowly roll to shore. The lump, as it came closer, transformed into a humanoid figure that Ryel immediately recognized as… "Papa."

"It's time, Ryel. It will be okay," her father comforted her as the corners of his lipless mouth turn upward and his hand reached out to her.

Tilting her head up to see her mother's face, for the other half of her reassurance, she saw the woman's smile stretch to her eyes, the wrinkles on her nose wrinkling even more. She mouthed the words, "Go on," and Ryel knew her mother was genuinely happy for her.

Since she could remember, her parents told her that her birth was no accident. She was born with a purpose and now it was time to understand that purpose.

Taking her father's hand, he led her to the silvery ocean edge and panic set in. Ryel turned to look back at her mother to reassure herself that the smile remained on her face as she waved them to continue. This was what Ryel was born to do.

Her father stopped by the edge of the liquid metal sea as it stretched, then touched him. As soon as his feet connected with the liquid he melded with it, his seemingly shoed foot liquefied into the silvery substance spreading slowly throughout his body until all that remained was the hand that held hers.

The idea of melding did not scare Ryel, she'd done so with her father several times. It was their game to touch their index fingers together and watch them melt and blend together, flowing down until their hands were nothing more than liquid metal churning between them.

She remembered the first time she'd shared, or as her father's people called it, linked," Ryel cried believing she would melt away and die. But she'd felt nothing but her father's thoughts of love and safety. It was a revelation as she had always seen her father as distant but at that moment she could feel his insecurity. In that moment, she understood her father better than any words would've allowed.

It was an exhilarating experience to connect with someone so completely and Ryel only wished her mother could join them. But to her credit, her mother simply said that her parents had other ways of connecting completely. Although Ryel was skeptical, it seemed enough for her them which was enough for her.

Then, she remembered gently severing their connection, as she touched her father's face with her solid hands.

"It's okay Papa," her two year old voice seemed more mature than before their link," I understand now."

Since then, Ryel loved to link with her father but that seemed like a drop in a bucket while facing a link with countless Changlings at once.

But the moment came when his remaining hand liquefied and slowly hers did as well. She quieted herself just enough to resist running away from her father and his people back to her mother's arms but it didn't stop her legs from trembling as the fingers melted into his.

Quickly, reassurance overwhelmed fear as Ryel felt the love of her father and filtered through him she felt the love of his people. He protected her from the onslaught of minds and Ryel basked in the ebb and flow of thoughts accepting her, appreciating her, and welcoming her into the Great Link.

There were no words, only feelings and concepts passing between Ryel and the others through the filter of her father. Her purpose for being was at the fore of their thoughts, always there in their sharing. So much so that her father finally decided to form the thoughts into a structured story.

They were polymorphs that had evolved from single forms long agoThey were creatures of a single form that evolved as polymorphs so long ago. Ryel felt the fear of Changlings hiding for their lives. Creatures, humaniod and not, hunted them relentlessly on so many worlds. Dispersed groups of Changelings banded together for safety in numbers eventually making a home for themselves.

It was a world not like the one they were on now. This world had vegetation and some humanoids but those cohabitants also hunted her father's people regardless of agreements and promises. And so they fled that world too, but not before so many of them were slaughtered.

When they found the planet that would become their home for centuries more, Ryel could feel their hope for peace. From there they explored other planets secretly, always shaping themselves as the natives and studied their alien physiology.

Planning, manipulating, studying the solids around them, Changlings found their peace in purpose. Millennia of learning the intricacies of solid genetics allowed for the rise of the political force the Gamma Quadrant called the "Dominion."

But at the same time, they tested the limits of their own physiology, experimenting freely.

It was this time when they'd discovered the right conditions for the creation of a Solid-Changeling hybrid.

One hundred experiments created ninety-one viable hybrids. Thirty-seven of those children were killed by their Solid parent immediately after discovering their Changling heritage. Twenty-one committed suicide and the rest were never heard from again, choosing to live entirely among their Solid population. The experiment was deemed a complete failure and therefore forgotten.

Ryel felt the years pass in seconds within the Great Link. Time meant nothing to them as the shared among themselves. Those seconds became centuries in the history of Solids and the Great Link flourished secretly.

Soon a spark of curiosity ignited the drive to explore farther outside of their planet and space. Several Changlings contracted into one mass within the Great Link, contributing parts of themselves into a tighter mass in their center. It reminded Ryel of an egg where the yolk was the Changelings' contributed matter.

When the Changelings withdrew quickly from the pressurized center, the "yolk" exploded into several new Changelings that were then hurled into space, Odo, her father, among them.

What set Odo apart from the other young was that he'd found acceptance and unconditional love among Solids. The difference it caused in him was extremely noticeable and extremely disconcerting.

Although never admitting it to those around him or even to himself, he grew to love the Solids in his life and Changelings did not understand the blessing it could be, viewing it more as a curse.

It was not until after the Dominion and the Federation warred that her father's people began to consider other options. Atrocities were committed by both sides but what ended the war was the poisoning of the Great Link near extinction.

Odo, possessing the only cure, returned to his people as savior and a leader of sorts, to guide his people to a new relationship with the Solids.

There were too many feelings about the time of Odo's return for one overall perception but perhaps Odo's experience among the Solids did influence them. There was a sense they wanted, even after millenia of hatred and mistrust, to connect somehow to the Solids, thanks to Odo.

Ryel saw her father through the eyes of the Changelings around her. His return brought with it an understanding of Solids to some degree but more importantly the possibility of peace with them. Very few Changelings could love a Solid, even fewer could be loved by one. In all of the memories, not once could they remember a time where a Solid could accept one of them in every aspect as a Changeling.

The Great Link contemplated secretly what he shared with them. They were captivated by Ryel's mother, Kira Nerys, and their curiosity drove them to pursue the extent of that relationship. And so they shared their long forgotten, freshly remembered knowledge of hybrid creation with Odo, and he wasted no time.

They awaited Odo's return with the hybrid, ready to share the experience of life born among solids.

Ryel felt the strength of her purpose and pushed the boundaries of her father to touch his people directly. He didn't want to let her free but when she insisted, he released Ryel and she instantly felt their thoughts pass through her like water. They pulled memories she didn't realized were there.

The sound of her mother and father's voices.

A memory of being ripped from warmth into the cold, only to return to the warm arms of her mother as she felt them hold her closely for the first time.

Faces of various Solids smiling and cooing.

The victory of her first steps from her mother's arms and into her father's.

The first taste of a sweet jumja stick.

Someone with a large head and huge rounded ears with pointy teeth, often found scowling and arguing with her father, always stealthily placing slips of latinum in her pocket.

Entertaining friends with newly learned shapes to shift into.

They were memories of acceptance and love. Her life not threatened, her heritage not shameful, Ryel the Changling-Bajoran thrived among the Solids for all she was.

Faster now, the memories of faces and events were pulled from her and Ryel could no longer manage being pulled in all directions. Bits of self seemed pulled with the memories like strands from a carpet unraveling until ultimately there would be nothing left. Panicked now, she felt her individuality fracturing, each piece replaced with the vast oneness of the Great Link.

Just when Ryel was about to give up, she realized that the endless number of consciousnesses pulled and pushed against her own narrowed into one focused presence. "Papa?"

Her father surrounded her again, he shut out the onslaught of entities filtering them into one coherent thought.

She couldn't blame them. At first, they restrained themselves for her but when her experiences among the Solids circulated throughout the Great Link they lost their control in the excitement, hungry for more. Even among the eldest of Changelings, memories of life as solids had been lost, but Ryel's experiences caused a long forgotten stir.

She could feel their regret even as her father propelled her away from the Great Link. Her body returning to its basic form, she made her way to the shore as her father continued to surround her. Beyond the shore, Ryel could sense her mother waiting. She could see her mother through her reforming eyes and as her foot formed she stepped out of the silvery sea and onto the dry sand.

Rushing to her side, her mother was there to wrap her arms around her daughter, now completely returned to basic form. Her father behind her, his form only a liquid humaniod shape until he stepped out of the silvery sea and had taken his more humanoid characteristics.

Unlike her father or the other Changelings, Ryel did not have to shift into a liquid state between transitioning between one shape to another. Her natural form was the one she was born to, her Bajoran body.

"How was it?" her mother asked her, perhaps concerned that the time in the Great Link was not as long as expected.

Ryel simply smiled at her mother and held her hand, then held her father's hand. "Can we go home?"

As she walked toward their shuttle with her parents, Ryel thought about her father's people and their hunger to know what it was like to be accepted by the Solids. This was the reason for her birth, this was her purpose.

She stopped and let go of her parents' hands then raced to the edge of the metallic sea. Steadying herself on her hands and knees, Ryel dipped her finger into it just long enough to share one simple thought. "I promise I'll come back with more to share."


End file.
